


Angels Primaris

by gwill424



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 16:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10925835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwill424/pseuds/gwill424
Summary: The Angels of Retribution are a proud chapter. Descendants of the Lion, they carry with them the paranoia and mistrust of their parent chapter, the Dark Angels. With the opening of the Great Rift, and the beginning of a new era of terrible war across the galaxy, many Astartes are divided on Primarch Roboute Guilliman's decision to create a new, more enhanced breed of Space Marine. Some are grateful for the reinforcements. Others take it as an affront, an attempt to replace them with something better.Aboard the super battle barge Angel's Clarion, the first of Guilliman's Primaris Marines have reached the Angels of Retribution. Chapter Master Azazael must determine how to employ them so they best fit into the Chapter's combat doctrine and he seeks the advice of his most trusted company commander, Captain Tamriel of the Vaunted Second. How will the Angels handle their newest reinforcements?





	Angels Primaris

     Hurried boot steps rang down the corridor. Captain Tamriel moved swiftly, cream and crimson cloak fluttering behind him. When Chapter Master Azazael called, one did not keep him waiting. Tamriel’s haste swept down the halls before him like a bow wave before an aquacraft, urging every man, servitor, and Astarte to clear the way as the commander of the Vaunted Second passed by. Though he did not show it outwardly, Tamriel was concerned. His mind entertained thoughts as to why he had been called to the hangar deck. Try as he might, he could come up with nothing substantial. Azazael had not made clear the reason for this summons. Only that it was of the utmost importance and concerned the Captain directly.

     Bulkhead doors disengaged with a heavy thunk before hydraulic retractor cables pulled them apart. Tamriel’s gaze instantly fell on is Chapter Master standing on the other side. Azazael was a hulking man, even by Astartes standard. He wore his armor plate regally, as royalty might when dressed for war. The deep green and bone white trim of his power armor complemented the dark crimson robes draped over them. A golden rope served as a belt, cinching the cloth tight about his waist. Azazael’s back was turned to Tamriel as the Chapter Master leaned heavily on the balustrade, gaze turned down towards the hangar’s main deck.

     “My Lord,” Tamriel said, drawing even. “You requested me.” He looked up at Azazael’s face, searching his features for some hint that might betray his purpose here. The Chapter Master stood a full head taller than his favored captain. Azazael’s eyes bore a calm intelligence in them though, Tamriel noted, their warm luster had hardened over with steel.

     “I did,” Azazael confirmed. He gestured with a hand below. “Look there.”

     Tamriel turned his gaze downward.

     The hangar deck was monstrously cavernous. Even with his enhanced vision, Tamriel would be hard pressed to see from end to end. It encompassed seventeen full levels and stretched the entirety of the battle barge’s midship section. _Angel’s Clarion_ was massive by any standard, nearly four times as large as a typical Astartes battle barge. Rumor claimed only the mighty Phalanx of the Imperial Fists rivaled her in terms of size, firepower, and age. The hangar was full of the usual bustle. Thunderhawks, assault rams, and other small craft stood lined in neat rows as ordinance carts and fuel-servitors went about their daily routines, supervised as always under the watchful eyes of the Mechanicus overseers. Theirs was a routine of such masterful coordination and precision Tamriel often thought watching it was akin to watching the great dancers that sometimes entertained visiting diplomats and other ranking officials. The beauty here was far subtler though, lost on anyone without an eye for it.

     But such was not what drew Tamriel’s attention as he peered down from the high catwalk.

     A number of bulk landers dominated the center of the deck. Their blocky hulls were painted a striking blue hue trimmed with white and gold. The Imperial Aquila sat emblazoned boldly upon engine cowlings while the Chapter symbol of the Ultramarines was placed on hatch doors and either side of the prow under the cockpit. Loading ramps lay extended upon the deck like distended jaws. The air reverberated with the sound of ceramite on steel as each lander’s cargo marched in lock step down the ramps to stand in neat ranks.

     They were Astartes, that much was certain, but they were bigger. Taller and broader at the shoulder, Tamriel recognized that each one would compare to Azazael in terms of size even from this distance. Their armor was painted olive drab and trimmed in bone white around the pauldrons. Those designated as squad leaders even bore the cream colored helm that denoted the rank of sergeant. They stood silent, waiting, eyes locked straight ahead. Tamriel’s gaze fell on the left shoulder of the closest marine. There staring back at him was the haloed skull that served as the chapter symbol for the Angels of Retribution.

     Tamriel’s brows furrowed and he looked at Azazael questioningly.

     “A gift,” the Chapter Master replied with a sideways glance. “From Lord Guilliman.”

     Tamriel frowned. “What are they?”

     “The future!” Azazael replied, slapping an open palm on the balustrade in feigned joy. The display was short lived. Resigned indignation quickly returned. “Primaris marines.”

     “They are Astartes?” Tamriel asked.

     “Of course they are. But bigger and better. A new breed born of Lord Guilliman’s imagination and made flesh by the techno-sorceries of Mars. Look there now, Tamriel, and witness the coming of our obsolescence.”

     Tamriel's frown deepened. He could not deny the martial grandeur of these new Primaris Astartes. Bigger, stronger, faster, they looked every inch the epitome of superhuman warrior. Doubt crept into the back of his mind, questioning whether or not the seasoned veteran might be a competent match for even the newest of these warriors. “Why does this involve me?” he asked. “You stated the reason for summoning me here impacted me directly.”

     “So I did.” Azazael gave his captain a sideways glance. “There are one hundred of them here. That is the number Lord Guilliman has deemed fit for us. One hundred Primaris, plus the technology to create more.”

     “A company.”

     “Just so. They will be your charges, Tamriel. They will be made into the New Second. Under your watchful eye and skilled tutelage they shall learn the combat practices of this Chapter and once they have passed your muster we will see if they are as good as Lord Guilliman’s boasts claim they are.”

     “I see.” Heavy silence hung between them as both Angels watched more Primaris disembark and take their place in the swelling ranks. “And what of the current Second?”

     “They will remain in their current capacity until the Primaris understand our doctrine. Once that is done, they will be dissolved and whatever remains of their number divvied out to fill the needs of the other companies.”

     “There will be dissent.”

     “I expect no less.” Azazael sighed. Tamriel, for the briefest moment, caught the Chapter Master’s age showing. “They will not be stripped of their honors and glories. They will not be stripped of their titles. That will placate some. The rest will simply have to accept it. Our numbers are already in jeopardy. The Fifth is under fifty percent strength and the third is at sixty-three. They cannot sustain such losses continually and we are still months from our annual recruitment. The skill and experience your men possess will go a long way in filling those gaps and bolstering our strength immediately until such a time the future of this Chapter becomes clear.”

     Tamriel sneered. “Is it not already? Are we not to be replaced, slowly and inexorably until this Chapter remembers nothing of our heroics save for what is written on the ebony walls in the Atrium Memoriae?” He spat the words as if they were laced with poison. “Do they even possess our gene-seed? Will they carry the Lion’s legacy into the stars? Or are they Guilliman’s attempts at snuffing out those of us who spurned his ideals when he broke the legions up millennia ago?”

     “Your paranoia is impressive, Tamriel.” The rebuke was firm but offered in good nature. Azazael had entertained those same misgivings when he had been informed. Some he still harbored. Others had been assuaged. “I have been told the Lion’s blood pumps in their veins. Guilliman had the good sense to include heritage when he created them. Otherwise I do not think the other Chapters would receive them so well.”

     “You sound like one of Russ’ dogs,” Tamriel said with a snort. “I do not like this. There is nothing wrong with us. We have stood vigilant for ten thousand years.”

     “We have,” Azazael agreed. “We have guarded well an empire grown stagnant and putrefied.” Tamriel seemed aghast at Azazael’s words but the Chapter Master continued. “The Great Rift has forced our hand. If mankind is to persist, no longer will it do for us to merely survive. We must take the reins and drive our own fate, lest we be swept into oblivion by the coming tides. The Imperium is shattered and needs reunification. Lord Guilliman is not misguided in that regard. Rather, he and I see eye to eye quite clearly.”

     “We will join his crusade then?”

     “We will,” Azazael nodded. “The entire fleet will muster and we will deploy as one fighting force, to serve as Lord Guilliman’s spear as he strikes out at a foe we are beset upon by from all sides. And you, Tamriel.” Azazael turned to look his captain square in the eye. “You will be the tip of that spear, leading your new company in search of glory and honor. For the Chapter. Do you accept this charge?”

     “I do.” Tamriel surprised himself with the quickness of his response. There was no hesitation. His Chapter Master was handing him an honor and Tamriel knew to decline would be a mistake. Times were changing. Dark days were upon them. Days where the galaxy was rent in two. Half no longer received the guiding light of the Astronomicon. Tamriel could only imagine what horrors those on the wrong side of the Rift were enduring. War was at hand, war the likes of which mankind had never before known. Yes, times were changing.

     And the Angels would change with them or be lost.


End file.
